


Dining With Satan

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mark Pellegrino's mouth, Mouth Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-21 04:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘There’s something very liberating about having breakfast with Lucifer after he kills you.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dining With Satan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reformedtrickster](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=reformedtrickster).



> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

Richard eyed the restaurant with wary eyes before turning it to his watch, staring quietly at the hands point to eight fifty-five in the morning. Too early. The actor bemoaned over the fact he wasn’t still in a state of comatose on his hotel bed until the late afternoon. Dropping his wrist, he gave a yawn at the thought of sleep before contemplating how this was all going to play out. Believe it or not, after he was quite coldly ‘killed’ on set yesterday he was not expecting the rotting Lucifer to suddenly turn to him and go, “Breakfast? Tomorrow? My treat.” Richard didn’t even remember giving an intelligent answer other than a drawn out ‘uh’ and the frightening question of what would happen if he said ‘no.’ So here he was...staring quietly at the homey-looking restaurant a good couple miles away from set.

_God, I’m going to die. He’s going to come up to me and stab me with a butter knife._

“You look nervous.”

“Yeah, well I’m waiting for the devil,” Richard heaved out, staring quietly up at the restaurant, quite sure he was having a lovely conversation with his head. “Who killed me yesterday... Something very ironic about this...” he added conversationally, lightly shaking his head and catching something of a faded navy blue in the corner of his vision. His entire body suddenly lurched, heart beating erratically at him finally realizing someone was invading his privacy. Feeling his body take a step back, he stared at the amused face of Satan himself, brow cocked in question at him.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me,” Richard placed a hand over his chest, as if trying to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest in shock.

Mark’s lips were curling into a grin, as if he just thought of something quite witty but kept it to himself instead, scratching the side of his chin idly, “Good morning to you, too. Shall we head inside?” With that same fox-like grin of his on his face, Mark walked onward with all the grace in the word, leaving Richard to trail after him.

Richard followed silently, texting his wife that he was ‘dining with Satan’ and the chances of him dying was very great. Time to make sure the Will was a-okay and in prime-o condition. However, to his growing surprise Mark was utterly...friendly. Richard furrowed his brows in suspicion as they were seated and currently listening to Mark praise him over yesterday’s scene. As much as the shorter male would love to remain suspicious and nervous, he found it slowly beginning to ebb away. After all, the man was doing such a great job stroking his ego.

“Do you usually take the actors you kill out to breakfast the day afterward?”

Mark was currently sipping the cup of coffee before him, lips quirking into a smirk as he eyed him over the steaming cup, “Only the ones I stab...for obvious reasons.”

Richard couldn’t help but grin. The man was quick with his words, quick to give a witty response and he couldn’t help but already see great conversations in the making...or pure insanity. Both seemed like equally great choices. “Of course. The ones who were decapitated is just a tad too awkward and too soon.”

“Yes, and I’m all about etiquette and social awareness.”

The conversations ranged from the beginnings of their theatre lives to the low grumblings of the scores of last night’s game. Currently Mark was explaining to him about Stanislavski, the both of them previously getting into a heated debate over which technique was an overall juggernaut on stage in comparison to film. Mark, forever a hopeless romantic for Meisner technique, was explaining Stanislavski’s input on the control of physical and emotional memory on stage and the difference with Strasberg’s input.

Richard could only sit there with his food before him, watching the rather facially animated male talk. He was picking out the little quirks, and the way those lips would be saying more than they were letting on. It was just quite odd not seeing a rotting and dying Lucifer but instead the unblemished and lively face of something much different than the intense being he met the other day. Richard remembered the chills he simply got when Mark slowly turned cold orbs of arctic waters onto him when he approached him, lips curling into the faintest makings of a snarl.

Sheesh. Talk about feeling someone walking over your grave.

Anyhow, Mark was talking about something _possibly_ very important or relevant to the conversation at hand, but his eyes were painstakingly torn to watching and observing the man’s mouth. A fork would rise up to pop in a grape, and those white teeth would tug it into the depths of his mouth, followed by chewing and occasionally the sight of a pink tongue licking a sharp incisor. It was something that only made Richard wonder how the hell it was possible to make eating grapes -- grapes -- somehow some erotic act. Maybe he was reading way too into this, which wouldn’t surprise him that much, and if so he needed to get it through his thick skull that this was not some act of seduction. But...

That was just unfair. You can’t eat grapes like that.

“-- but hey it was a learning experience so I suppose it wasn’t too bad -- ”

Now his attention was back to those lips who were expressive entities, and Richard swore he could somewhat understand the conversation simply by reading the movement of the lips. Even with all that make-up caked on Mark’s face to make him look as if he was rotting from the inside-out yesterday, that mouth was still something no one could miss on camera...

“-- how long are you going to keep on staring at that mouth of mine? What...something in my teeth?”

Richard was far from paying attention, and Mark was all but very aware of it a long time ago, he just wanted to see how long it would take for all his attention to suddenly fade from the conversation itself. As someone who was taught to consistently be aware of the environment and situation at hand on stage, he applied it in daily life, and he was quite amused how suddenly enraptured Richard’s attention was on his mouth. He could right now be cursing the younger actor out and he probably wouldn’t notice. It made the blonde smirk lightly and scratch idly in thought at the side of his jaw.

“-- what if I told you that Jared was really born from a moose? I am quite serious. Moose runs in his blood. No? Not interesting enough? Tough audience.”

It was finally when Mark ran a finger across his bottom lip before pinching it lightly did the younger actor break out of it, raising his eyes expectantly at Mark. The knowing little look on the blonde’s face with those forever calm and collected half-lidded orbs of blue, Richard lightly ducked his head in mild embarrassment. _Smooth move there._ He needed to get a grip on himself, but doing so in front of Mark was just an impossible task. Right, right...what to do...what to do... _ah_!

Excusing himself to the bathroom, he gave a sigh in pure relief when there was finally a door between him and the restaurant.

This was by far the most bizarre breakfast he has ever had with another actor...let alone anyone else. He remembered catching a bite with Jared and simply confused as to why the zoo wasn’t wrestling the man back into his moose exhibit. With Mark he got easy-going and friendly vibes off of him, but...that mouth.

Shaking his head in disbelief, eyes rolling at what a strange thought process his mind just had to be going through today, he opened the door finally to find the Devil himself. A pleasant smile was etched on his face as he moved himself further into the bathroom in silence, pushing him further back as the soft click of the door and lock spoke volumes.

“I don’t think I ever made someone so antsy out of the workplace like this,” he mused out, and Richard narrowed his eyes, feeling his hackles rise Mark continued to move forward. As much as Richard would have loved to stand his ground, when you have someone the size of Godzilla coming at you, you tend to create distance. Richard kept his mouth shut, not trusting himself to say anything, not quite sure where this was going. This wasn’t on set where there was a set blocking and dialogue, and while he was fantastic at improv this was something completely different. So when he found himself pressed against the bathroom wall, and eyes turning to stare at the face of, well, the devil, he was simply at a loss for words.

“I bet it must be quite difficult right now to maintain eye contact, hmm?” he murmured slyly, the words a dark taunt that made Richard furrow his brows in disagreement. Hah! What is he _talking_ about! He was staring at him eye-to-eye! Of course! Come on he would never stare back down at those lips. _Fine._ Mark was right -- horribly right. It was taking all his willpower not to turn his eyes just a fraction downward and stare at how appetizing that bottom lip was, how lips moved so fluidly -- an actor on its own with its staged blocking. So instead of giving into the taunt, he kept his chin up, staring upward at the extremely tall blonde.

“Geez, no wonder why you got casted as Lucifer,” he jabbed back, feeling those damn lips curl into a smirk and he fidgeted slightly, wishing to see it. “May act all sweet and nice, but you’re actually quite the bastard,” he finished boldly, and a low chuckle thrummed out from Mark’s throat and fell from his mouth. Hooded eyes of sickly pale blue shinned brightly in growing mischief as Richard felt that tall body of Mark’s move until it was pressed against his. An audible gasp left his lips, forcing him to turn his head downwards as he felt something hard pressing against his lower abdomen.

“No one has complained as of yet...” he drawled out lazily, Richard’s eyes now focused on how those lips stretched into a wolfish grin, “Not even you.”

“Well stop talking and let me try -- ” the younger male protested before being silenced with a mouth capturing his in something that was oddly...gentle. Those pink lips swooped down to capture him in a kiss that simply felt as if silk was rubbing against his mouth. Mark’s lips were slowly coaxing him into action, but it was an unneeded gesture because Richard found his hands reaching out to splay themselves on the firm chest before him. A tongue ran across his teeth in a silent form of asking him to open up, and Richard happily complied, mouth parting slowly. The Southerner feeling himself become sedated and pulled into a relaxing state of pleasantries, willingly followed this harmless act.

So he gave in, and he should have realized that when those loving and soothing lips grinned against his, that he made the wrong move.

The tongue that pressed itself further into his mouth was suddenly alive and aggressive, wet flesh claiming and conquering the interior of his mouth. The younger actor made a sound in surprise as he quickly allowed his own tongue to apply some sort of grounding or resistance from being so easily taken advantage of. Richard growled in dismay as he found himself losing the fight, unable to stop his body from shivering uncontrollably when that lewd tongue of Mark’s ran across the roof of his mouth achingly slow.

Hand clutched onto the front of his shirt, pulling at the fabric and Richard cursed at himself. He cursed at himself for suddenly becoming such a damsel in distress, and he cursed at Pellegrino’s towering frame. Richard was absolutely certain that because he was at a height disadvantage that he didn’t hold raindrop’s chance in hell in even getting close to turning the tables on this one. He needed a stool or something. Mark was obviously abusing the ten extra feet advantage on him, and Richard idly wondered if he pulled back and inquired about some stool would he be ‘killing the mood.’

Dropping his hands from the blonde’s chest, he allowed fingertips to skim downward until boldly grabbing at the bulge, hearing a sharp gasp fill the air. Mark tore his lips away from his to suck in the air nosily, feeling those cold blues burning a massive hole through his forehead. He was waiting, feeling a smirk tickle his lips at the sudden bizarre control he suddenly had over the taller man. Feeling that mischievous little grin fall perfectly on his face, he began to palm and rub his hand roughly against denim, listening to a soft groan fill the air in response. Oh ho ho, Godzilla isn’t so tough after all.

Finally fingers nudged his hand away, slender digits working with rather dexterous ease as they successfully unbuttoned and unzipped the jeans. Shucking the jeans down, Richard merely stared in growing apprehension and arousal at the outline of a lengthy erection. There has to be a shirt somewhere that says, ‘Got the Devil hard.’ Whether it was temptation, eagerness to take more control, or mere curiosity, he reached over to brush his fingers against warm flesh. The blonde’s sudden intake of air became hitched, a low sound in encouragement for him to continue rumbling in Mark’s chest, back arching towards Richard. Feeding off of that, he allowed fingers to slowly curl around the base before slowly pumping him.

Mark’s hips moved against his hand, lips suddenly back on his, Richard giving a mewl of surprise when a hand reached out to roughly cup the growing ache in his pants in turn. Well this was one fine way of spending your morning. It was after what felt like eons was he twitching and writhing for more, beginning to feel himself lose his sanity the way denim was rubbing against his now painfully hard erection.

“God...Mark...” he managed to breathe out in growing annoyance because come on! Don’t just storm into the bathroom and than play around. Get going already! Yet the tone of need was all too clear, causing the unbearably tall blonde to slide his mouth over to his neck and bite down harshly. Honestly, there wasn’t much thought processing occurring through his mind the minute his pants were being yanked down along with his boxers, the cold air making his toes curl. The only single thought that was making itself known in his skull as he was been openly manhandled by ‘Satan’ was how he was going to explain the bite mark on his neck.

_‘Well you see, I went to the bathroom and got bit by the Devil.’_

That wasn’t too reassuring and safe...

_‘Yes, he does have his rabies shot. All is good in the world.’_

Now we’re reassuring the world!

“Man, I’d love to see you on a date now,” Richard managed to choke out, losing whatever oxygen was in his skull at the sight of Mark sucking casually on his index and middle finger with an amused look on his face. A ‘oh hell this is such a normal occurrence -- nothing new here folks’ kind of look that only made Richard more certain that Mark was the Devil. They didn’t cast Mark, they simply were making deals with the Devil to make their show realistic. _Bastards._

Giving a dangerous look at the blonde that twirled his wet index finger in a gesture for him to turn, he found himself doing as he was told without a moment of hesitation. Placing his hands on the tiled wall to brace himself, working his jaw nervously, a sound of shock left his lips when a slicked digit worked itself inside of him. It was when the finger curled itself inside of him did he make an obscene sound, instantly hushing himself as he remembered that thin walls surrounded them from the public. And yet somehow that only made him more painfully aware of the pulsing ache between his legs. It was when a second digit joined its brother did he begin to attempt to dig his nonexistent nails into the tiled walls, unable to smother the sounds of pleasure leaving his lips. They were slowly stretching him, working his muscles and stretching him in preparation that only made him try to sink his fingers into the wall. As satisfying as it was, it still wasn’t enough and it was taking quite a lot from Richard not to just grumble at Mr. Satan here.

When fingers left him, he was just about to voice his harsh rebuttal to this obvious hate crime when something dangerously scorching pressed against him.

Willing himself to relax for an easier entrance, he could only feel himself enthusiastically greet the intrusion, muscles pressing against instead. Mark cursed darkly, fingers digging into the shorter actor’s hips, “For the love of -- Richard, you’re doing this on purpose. I can see you smirking from the mirror.” Richard grinned. Okay. So he was. Sue him, he was getting pay back for all the other times he was taken advantage of...starting off with the grape.

The blonde shoved himself further in abruptly, and a soft hiss left the Southerner, aware of Pellegrino chuckling somewhere behind him. Ass. Waiting for more sharp pain to come, he was surprised to find it morphing into growing pleasure, a flood of warmth beginning to fill him. And when the blonde began to move, he could slowly feel little blocks of pressure beginning to build up rather quickly. Everything just seemed...too sensitive...too raw...too new...and he felt himself beginning to moan shamelessly. Biting his tongue, muffling his moans as best as he could, trying to vainly count the number of tiles on the wall before him.

_1...5...3...7...14...6 --_

Mark made an absolutely mouthwatering sound and well so much for counting...if he even remembered how to count.

Hips were suddenly picking up their pace, rolling with quick and purposeful movement, causing his entire skeletal frame to literally vibrate at the impact of pelvis meeting his backside. The sound of heavy panting filled the bathroom, and Richard could feel his throbbing hardness make itself painfully known _again_ , demanding attention _now_. Moving his hand so it was more in the middle, he sacrificed one hand to pump himself, feeling his body nearly fold into two when Mark chose that to be an opportune time to change his angle. Well someone obviously wasn’t exaggerating when they claimed they ‘saw stars’ because there were bright blots of white in his vision when that sweet spot was hit.

Mark’s hand was suddenly over his mouth and Richard wasn’t quite sure why, because he swore to god he was not the one groaning out profanities. That was Mark. He was dead certain Mark was busy showing off how many foul words he can string together. Feeling his body drape over his, teeth sinking into his shoulder, it was only a matter of second before he felt his orgasm punch him straight in the gut. Giving a loud whine in release, he was beginning to feel his body sag against the weight of Mark’s body before feeling hot heat sear inside of him. It left him shuddering, both hands now clutching onto the tiled wall for dear life.

Pleasure clung still against the base of his stomach, somewhere becoming clogged elsewhere in his chest as he struggled to keep himself still standing. He was satisfied yet unsatisfied, received much but not enough, and he felt oddly yanked about when Mark slowly pulled out of him. He tried not to think about how his body twitched in newborn arousal at the sound of moist flesh making its obscene, squelching sounds before finally silenced in a sign Mark was gone. Releasing the air he didn’t realize he was holding, he shakily pushed himself fully until he was standing straight, aware of the knot of tension somewhere near his lower back.

“Well I’m glad we didn’t do that in an I-Hop,” Richard commented wryly, earning a chuckle in praise from the Devil somewhere behind him. He fed off of the chuckle, cleaning himself off before pulling his boxers back up to his hips, “Not great service there as here.” Turning his head he found a knowing grin, tongue pressing against the side of his cheek in a sign that he knew tongue-in-cheek humor when he heard it.

“I am afraid I must agree,” Mark was speaking with mock seriousness, already buttoning his jeans before bending down to grab his shirt. “Can’t find this on the menu over there. Darn shame.”

It took everything from Richard not to burst out in a fit of laughter, aware for the third time that they were still in the bathroom of the restaurant. Hopefully there wasn’t a line out there to greet them...or the manager...

The two left with looks that made the manager worrisome that they somehow stole money from his precious register. If it was awkward, the two didn’t show it, instead giving snide jabs here and there about the acoustics of the bathroom in the mocking voices of posh royalty. Oh this was all wonderful discoveries made by Richard, and he couldn’t understand for the life of him how someone so utterly friendly and humorous could have just yesterday killed him. Figuratively and fictionally -- and let’s keep it that way.

Giving their goodbyes, it suddenly hit the Southerner as he began to make his way in the opposite direction for his car. That was his last scene yesterday. No more bugging the rest of the actors...meaning... Frowning lightly, he came to a sudden halt before blurting out the grand idea that just smacked him straight in the forehead.

“Mark,” Richard called out, the blonde turning slightly to cock a brow at the Southerner who was rubbing at a spot on his forehead. “Lunch? Tomorrow? My treat.” Mark would love to say that there was some sort cataclysmic, internal debate or bashings of morals, but instead he could only find himself feeling a disastrous wave of mocking humor grip him.

So Mark responded like a mature adult.

Placing a hand on his chest and allowing his jaw to drop in mocking surprise, “Oh...my...god, _lunch? Me?_ ” Richard felt his lips purse at the effectively and well-performed imitation of a sixteen year old girl in a Twilight convention, struggling to maintain some sort of dignity...or civility...or humanity...

“Oh my god, Mark. Stop freakin’ out. It’s not like dinner or something, oh _my_ god.” He couldn’t resist, he was playing along, placing hands on his hips and making the passing spectators achieve a state of fantastic confusion and worry. Mark was waving his hands in front of his face as if he was fanning himself from a sudden heat wave that overcame him, and the younger actor could feel a grin forever become imprinted on his face as he burst into laughter. This was not the man he came across the day before who was all blood thirst and cold frowns, and now all he could picture in his mind was a sassy Lucifer having a hormonal teenage epiphany in front of a very public setting.

Mark licked the underside of his top jaw before giving a slow nod, the actor staring curiously at him before giving a light wave in dismissal. “Don’t come too early this time, okay?” the blonde smirked before walking off in the direction of where he parked his car, Richard squinting at him as he tried to decipher what the towering male exactly implied with that statement. Giving a sigh that said he gave up, he rummaged for his cellphone to see the awaiting text message from his wife in inquisition of how it went.

Well...how was he going to put this in simple terms?

_‘Dinning with Satan...again.’_

**Author's Note:**

> God knows what the hell I was smoking to make this...


End file.
